


Sapphire Stone

by Shareece (kimbob)



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Action/Adventure, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Eventual Romance, Eventual Smut, F/M, Fairytalesque, Hurt/Comfort, Romance, Witches, spells
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-10-06
Updated: 2017-10-06
Packaged: 2019-01-09 23:09:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,331
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12286185
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kimbob/pseuds/Shareece
Summary: You may rise a knight, Ser Jaime Lannister, of House Lannister.’  Jaime had stood, clutching the Sapphire stone in his hand.





	1. Prologue

Prologue

Lannisport, 266 AC

Joanna Lannister made her way across the piers of Lannisport, holding the bundle in her arms closer to her chest the further she walked from the safety of the Inn she and Tywin has been occupying. She had easily convinced him to let her accompany him along with the twins to Lannisport, claiming she did not want to be left alone. The port was bustling with activity, but the night sky only seemed to darken the further she walked toward the darkened forest. Her son’s cries had her quickening her steps. Her nerves were affecting him greatly. Gently she rocked him, murmuring reassurances to him as she finally reached the entrance of Maggy’s large tent and entered. 

She paused as she took in the person she once called sister. Maggy had once been beautiful, eyes once bright and full of life now looked dull and lifeless. Her hair unkempt, skin dirty. Joanna didn’t feel bad as this was her own doing. Drawn close to madness after losing the love of her life. Choosing to engage in the darkness, killing one of their sisters in the process. Now here she sat, pushed to the edges of society, completely alone. 

Still, despite all of this, Maggy still held power both magical and spiritual. Like herself, Maggy was gifted with the power of foresight; Joanna was currently nowhere as powerful when it came to such gifts has recent childbirth had weakened her considerably.

Maggy eyed Joanna shrewdly, her expression holding distain as the Lady of the Rock carefully stepped forward. 

Despite her son’s cries, Joanna bowed low, murmuring her greeting. “Maggy.” 

Maggy smiled slowly, leaning back in her seat as she spoke. “The Lady of the Rock bowing to me?” Her eyes glanced very briefly at the tiny squirming crying bundle in Joanna’s arms. 

Joanna smiled a smile that did not reach her eyes. “A mere sign of respect.” She said softly. “I am, of course, in your home.”

Maggy nodded. “Yes.” She agreed with a thin smile as she spread her arms wide. “And what a home it is.” She tilted her head. “What are you doing here, exactly?” 

Joanna sighed heavily. “You know why I am here Maggy.” 

Maggy smiled and leaned forward. “I do, but I wish to hear you say it.” 

Joanna glared at the person she once thought of as her sister. She glanced down at her son as his cries grew louder. “I need your help.” 

“Ahh,” Maggy said, sitting back. “My help? Why would I help you?” 

Joanna stepped forward, her green eyes fierce. “Because I command it so,” She said. “As your elder, I command you.” 

Maggy threw her head back and laughed. “My elder?” She shook her head, sitting forward. “You’ve not been such a thing for years now, don’t try to be now that you’re desperate for my help.” 

Joanna’s gaze turned desperate. “We were sisters once, Kianne.” She said, using her real name. “Please.”

Maggy slowly sat back in her seat, her earlier vehemence gone. “Very well,” Maggy stood “Place him onto the altar.” 

Joanna did as she was instructed, whispering more words of comfort as she moved toward the altar. She kneeled, watching as Maggy prepared herself. She glanced down at her son as his cries grew louder with each passing moment. 

“Your emotions are affecting him.” The witch said without turning. “He senses your fear.” 

Joanna nodded, swallowing down the sudden sickness she felt as she tried to comfort her son. Her nerves were getting the best of her. If Tywin found out she was here—She shook such thoughts away. He would not find out, she made sure of that. She glanced up as Maggy moved toward them. 

“Place him here,” She said softly, “Let us see the little heir to the Rock.”

Joanna gently placed her child down, the tiny blankets covering him falling away. His cries suddenly quieted as his gaze caught Maggy’s own. The blood Witch smiled, her eyes gleaming as she stared down at the little one. 

“Well,” she said softly, “He is strong.” 

Joanna nodded proudly. “He is a Lannister.” She ran a finger down his cheek, smiling as he suddenly gurgled happily. “He will be powerful.” Joanna said softly. “Just as his ancestors were before him.” She caressed the side of his cheek again. “I know this much” she said softly, “but I cannot make sense of all I have seen.” 

Maggy pulled out a tiny needle. “The pleasure is mine, my lady.” She reached for the child’s tiny fingers, pausing as Joanna placed her hand over her own.

 

“Careful.” Joanna warned and Maggy smiled. 

“Just a pinch.” She said, quickly pricking the child’s finger. She watched as the child’s eyes widened in surprise before he began to cry. “Shhh, just a pinch.” She raised the baby’s finger toward her mouth, her eyes rolling back into her head as images flashed through her mind. 

Joanna watched this quietly, glancing briefly at Jaime who had once again quieted, seemingly awe struck with the witch. 

A few moments later, Maggy pulled away with a loud gasp. “Oh, my.” She whispered before she began to laugh delightedly. “I have never tasted blood so powerful.” 

Joanna shook with nervous energy. “Kianne?” She said urgently. “What is you have seen?” 

“A thousand lifetimes.” Maggy answered cryptically. “I’ve seen a thousand lifetimes.” Her laughter quieted as she suddenly leaned over to pick up the heir. “What is his name?” she asked as she gazed down at the baby reverently. 

“Jaime,” Joanna answered, “his name is Jaime.” 

Maggy shook her head. “Light bringer,” She whispered and Joanna’s eyes widened in shock. 

Joanna’s eyes widened as she gently took her son from the blood witch’s arms. “Light Bringer.” She murmured as Jaime’s cries quieted. 

Maggy watched the woman she once considered a sister quietly. “There is something you must understand Joanna. The girl—you must send her away.” 

Joanna looked up from her son, her expression confused. “Cersei? I don’t understand.” 

Maggy shook her head. “You must send her away from him. She will poison him if you do not. He will not become the man he is supposed to be if you let them stay together.” 

Joanna looked down at her son who was watching her quietly. She knew what she had to do.

 

272 AC

“I do not like this.” Tywin murmured as he watched Cersei board one of the Dornish ships. 

Joanna sighed as she wrapped her arm around his own. “You always said you wanted a foothold within Dorne.” 

“Mmm.” Tywin agreed. “She was supposed to be a queen.” 

Joanna shuddered at the thought of her child being a Targaryan. “The King is mad. I’ll not have my daughter anywhere near him. Besides, it won’t matter whether she’s a queen or a princess because she is a Lannister and that is all that matters.” 

Tywin pulled his wife closer, as always pleased with the pride she had in the Lannister name. “I suppose this will be good for us.” He finally relented. 

Joanna nodded once. “Yes.” She glanced down as she heard a sniffle. “Oh.” She said as she pulled away from Tywin. She leaned down so that she was eye level with Jaime. “My poor sweet boy.” She said softly. 

“You mustn’t baby him, Jo.” Tywin admonished. 

“Oh shush.” She said pulling Jaime into her arms. She gently rubbed his back as he cried silent tears into her shoulder. “I know it hurts.” She said quietly. “But You and your sister both have your own destinies to follow.” She pulled away from the embrace so she can rest her hands onto Jaime’s cheek. “You will be a great knight.” She ran her fingers through his hair as she continued to speak the words into his mind so that only he can hear them. “You will be brave and bold. A savior who will not fear death.” 

Jaime stared in awe at his mother, tears forgotten. “Mother?” he whispered and she winked at him before standing up. She reached for his hand before reaching for Tywin’s hand. “Let us return home.” 

 

273 AC

Joanna had always known she wouldn't be staying in this world for much longer. She smiled as she felt the gentle pressure of her husband’s hand in her own. “Tywin—” She breathed as he sat beside her. “The babe—he lives?”

Tywin nodded, his expression dark as he spoke quietly. “He does.” 

Joanna squeezed his hand. “You mustn’t blame him. You must be kind to him. He is our son.” 

Tywin stayed stubbornly quiet on the subject and she sighed. “I love you.” She said softly. 

Tywin’s eyes glistened with tears. “And I you.” 

Joanna squeezed his hand once more, her eyes slipping to Jaime’s own. “Please give us some time alone.” 

Tywin nodded once and turned to go. 

She had told Jaime all her secrets; had shown him all she could. She patted the empty space beside her. “Climb up.”

Jaime did as she instructed, his rosy cheeks wet with his tears as he settled next to her. “Mother—” 

Joanna shook her head. “No tears.” She whispered. “It was meant to be.”

Jaime tried to wipe at his tears, but they continued to flow. Joanna wished she could sit up and grab him into her arms, but felt too weak to do so. “You must protect your brother.” She instructed. “Always. He will have a hard life and you must be there for him; love him.” 

Jaime nodded. “I will.” He whispered. 

Joanna reached for his small hand. “You must remember who you are. You must remember what I’ve taught you.” She squeezed his hand as she continued to speak. “You will be a great knight. You will be brave and just. You will defend the innocent, the weak, and the vulnerable.” She placed her hand onto his cheek. “A darkness will challenge humanity and it will be you who will challenge It back.” 

Jaime’s emerald gaze hardened as he took in the words his mother often said to him. “There will be no men like me,” he said clearly, “only me.” 

Joanna smiled and nodded. “Do not lose the stone I have given you. It is very important.” 

Jaime nodded vigorously and reached into his pocket. He held out the sapphire stone for his mother to see. 

“It will protect you.” Joanna whispered, feeling herself grow weaker. “Until you find your true Sapphire stone.” She closed her eyes. “I love you, Jaime.”

“I love you too.” He whispered, lying his head on her chest, tears running down his cheeks. “I will not fail you mother.” 

88

276AC

At age ten , Jaime is chosen to squire for Prince Rhaegar, much to the pleasure of Tywin. Jaime learned all he can from the prince, is awed at his prowess with a sword; even more awed by the tones of his voice when he sings. Rhaegar taught him about more than how to yield a sword; he made him read books as well. At first, Jaime despised such a thing, but eventually he found himself drawn to the stories and poetry. 

“Books are important little Lion,” Rhaegar had said to him as he handed him one of his books. “Only the very weak-minded refuse to be influenced by literature and poetry.”

Jaime would merely shake his head and read; always ready for an inquiry from Rhaegar after every finished book. He particularly liked the books Rhaegar would give him about valiant knights. 

281AC

At fifteen, Jaime is knighted by Ser Arthur Dayne. Heart pounding, he placed one knee onto the muddied ground of the battlefield, head lowered as he listened to the words he has been waiting to hear since his mother’s death. 

‘Jaime Lannister, of House Lannister, in the name of the warrior I charge you to be brave. In the name of the Father I charge you to be just. In the name of the Mother I charge you to defend the young and innocent. In the name of the Maid I charge you to protect all women. You may rise a knight, Ser Jaime Lannister, of House Lannister.’ 

Jaime had stood, clutching the Sapphire stone in his hand. 

Shortly thereafter, he returned to Dragonstone and to a much grimmer Prince Rhaegar. 

“My father,” The prince spoke quietly, “has grown more paranoid. He is burning people at court. He is harming my mother. I must do something—changes must be made.” 

Jaime was shocked to find tears in the Prince's eyes when he looked up at him.

Jaime had heard the rumors about The King. He had heard his mother speak not kindly of the king a time or two. Jaime could vaguely remember the king as an imposing man who often angered quickly. “Your grace?”

Rhaegar blinked seemingly coming back to himself. “Ser Jaime,” He said, “We shall celebrate your official change in title. I hear you faced the smiling knight, quite brave you are young Lion.” 

Jaime is filled with pride from the praise. That night, he drank so much wine he became sick and passed out to the quiet sounds of Rhaegar’s singing voice. That night, he dreamed of mysterious blue eyes. 

282AC

Tension between Rhaegar and the King continue to grow, Jaime convinced Rhaegar to allow him to accompany him to court at King’s Landing. Factions loyal to the King and Factions loyal to the prince began to grow. Jaime is shocked to witness the true madness of the king as he burns two Starks in the throne room. 

Rhaegar declares his father as a King unfit to rule. War breaks loose. Rhaegar’s rebellion begins. Jaime fights beside the Prince. 

283AC

At seventeen, he kills the King. He sat on the iron throne, hand covering his face. 

The war was won. 

Rhaegar and Ned discovered him first. 

“Ser Jaime?” Rhaegar grabbed his arm as he stared down at the corpse of his father. 

Jaime lifted his head, his eyes fearful. “Burn them all, he commanded. He was mad I—I killed him.” 

Ned nodded once. “Your father is here.” He said softly. “He would like to see you’re alive.” 

Rhaegar is crowned king. He declares Jaime the Savior of King’s Landing. The people cheer him; name him Jaime the Gold. Jaime the Just. The Lion Knight. 

His legend grows. He becomes what his mother foretold. 

He fights and defends in the name of King Rhaegar; in the name of the Lannisters. Until, one day, he disappears.


	2. Present Day

299AC-Present Day

“Find the Lannister fuck! He’s escaped!”

Jaime had since stopped running, having fallen down a steep hill and into a small ravine. He heard the shouts of the sellsword company searching frantically for him. The Brave Companions. The bloody mummers; they’ll never find him the fucking idiots that they were. He’d lain there in the damp grass while trying to catch his breath. The brook glided over the brown shale and tumbled over the gray sandstone boulders, filling the forest with the sound of rushing water.

His soiled clothing was beginning to grow steadily wet as he blinked up at the blue sky. What a beautiful day to die. The pain from his missing hand seemed to have dissipated, the excitement of his escape probably the reason for that. His eyes slipped closed as he fought to catch his breath. He was fading. ‘Good.’ he last thought as he slipped into unconsciousness.

8

Brienne paused as she heard horses in the distance. Her hand immediately went to the sword at her waist as she quickly moved behind a nearby tree. What were they doing this far into the woods? She wondered. She loosened her grip on the hilt of her sword when the sound of horses began to fade. Sighing to herself, she placed the rabbit she had trapped earlier into the satchel she carried. Men rarely ventured this far out into these woods and she idly wondered what or whom they were looking for. There hasn’t been anyone in this forest for years.

Shaking her troubled thoughts, she picked up her water buckets and began moving toward the ravine. She stopped suddenly, abruptly aware that she was not alone. It was a man, lying dead in the water and before she could think things through, she propelled forward; the cool water soaking through her pants as she leaned down to look at the man more closely. Her eyes widened in shock as her psyche felt the small sense of life coming from the unconscious man. He was alive!

She knelt beside him, wondering how it was someone could still be alive looking like this. His hair was matted to his head in a greasy clump. She could see the cuts and scrapes through the grime on his face, his hand, missing. She tentatively reached out to touch him, flinching back as she felt his delirium, the barrage of chaotic thoughts coming from his fevered mind.

Brienne knew without a doubt that this man was probably who those riders were looking for. She also knew she couldn’t leave this man here, and despite her better judgement, Brienne reached out again and spoke softly. “It’s alright. I mean you no harm.” With those words, she began to move into action, reaching underneath his arms and dragging him toward her waiting horse.

88

Brienne gently placed her charge onto her wooden dining table. She stood staring at him for a time, once again wondering why she was doing this. The smell of rotting flesh permeated her senses and she wrinkled her nose, moving to light a fire and some candles. She quickly went to work, grabbing the herbs Mint and myrrh to be placed into the pot of water she had placed onto the fire. Next, she grabbed a handful of cloves and placed them into her mortar, grinding them up until they were a fine powder.

She tensed as she felt someone’s gaze on her and she turned, surprised to see her guest staring at her. “Hello.” She said quietly, cautiously. She watched as the man flinched from her voice, his eyes darting around nervously. She took a step forward. “You are in my home.” She said softly. “I mean you no harm.” Responding to her low, calm voice, the man stilled. Feeling bolder, she gently touched his shoulder. “This is my home,” She said softly, “You’re safe here.”

The man stared into her blue orbs, obviously trying to concentrate on her words through his fever-induced haze of confusion. Brienne stared back, silently urging him to trust her. The man blinked a few times before nodding his head once. His head fell back against the table and he groaned pitifully before again losing consciousness.

88

Before she could clean him of the filth, she had to take care of his mangled limb. Brienne carefully ladled some warm water into a cup with the cloves she had grinded earlier. She stirred it with a spoon for a few moments before moving toward her charge. She gently lifted his head, holding back a gasp as his eyes fluttered open. She held the cup to his lips. “You must drink this.” She said carefully. “It’s for the pain.”

The man shook his head, turning his face away as he mumbled something unintelligible in dry rasp.

She sighed. “You must If I am to help you. Please?” She could not begin to heal him if she couldn’t numb some of the pain he was surely to feel when she begins to tend to his injury. Jaime still fought against it, nearly knocking the tin cup out of her hands. Brienne was surprised by his strength, given the extensiveness of his injuries. She growled as he almost knocked the cup out of her hands again. “Stop it, dammit!” Her voice commanded, her tone dangerously low. Her charge stopped his struggling as he gave her a queer look. Brienne brought the cup to his lips again, sighing in satisfaction as he drank the bitter liquid slowly.

“Thank you.” She said, placing his head gently back against the table. She watched as his eyes fluttered closed again, exhausted from exerting the energy he used to fight her off.

Next, she moved back toward the fire and pulled the boiling pot of herbs from the flames. Steam rose up into her face, the scent of myrrh and mint hitting her senses in a comforting way. She thoroughly washed her hands before turning back to work. She gently grasped his mangled limb to examine it. It was infected judging from the smell, but it hadn’t turned green or black yet which was a good sign. The mud caking it probably slowed that process. She would have to cut away the rotting flesh first.

She worked quickly, but gently, snipping at the dead flesh, wincing from his gasps and groans of pain. She knew had he not drank the solution she had made earlier; his groans would be screams. She watched as pieces of the dead flesh fell into the pail she placed underneath where she worked. Satisfied the worst of it was cut away, she reached for the ingredients she had boiled and poured it over his stump.

“Argh!” He cried out; bucking and hissing. She easily held him down this time as his second attempts at struggling were feeble. She washed her hands again and gently applied the healing salve. He quieted down, having fallen into unconsciousness again. She wrapped the limb with clean bandages, making sure it was secure before sitting back with a sigh.

She was barely finished.  
8

Brienne pulled his boots off, sighing in relief when he did not stir. Startled, she glanced down as something dropped to the floor. She leaned down and picked up the small object. Her eyes widened. A sapphire stone; it was meant for protection. She twisted the stone, this way and that before glancing back at the unconscious man. Only certain type of people carried this stone. Shaking her thoughts, she gently placed the stone into her pocket and continued her work.

His feet were red and swollen, some of the skin rubbed raw from prolonged walking. She carefully stripped away the rest of his clothing, wincing in sympathy as she washed away the grime from his body. He was tall and broad, but painfully thin. His clearly-defined rib cage and hallowed cheeks told her he had been starved for a very long time. As she gently ran the warm, wet sponge over his chest and arms, she uncovered old scars of long thin lines that spoke to her of swords. He was a fighter this one.

As she bathed the rest of his body, she saw newer wounds, some poorly healed and others still raw, inflamed and angry. She poured the solution over those wounds, covered them in the healing salve and clean bandages. She turned him on his side and did the same for his back. He had been brutalized; abused, that much was obvious. Brienne wondered what kind of life he lived to be put in a position to receive such brutal treatment.  
88

Sometime in the fourth night, Jaime’s fever broke and he awoke, body aching and drenched in a cold sweat. Slowly his eyes fluttered open, blinking rapidly to clear his vision, he slowly examined his surroundings in surprise. He had accepted that he would not survive. He had given in to the sweet oblivion his escape had offered. Instead, he found himself in a comfortable bed, having been stripped, bathed, and cared for. He closed his eyes, sighing shakily as he gave into the luxury of enjoying the sensation of being taken care of. It had been so long since he’d felt anything like it and it nearly brought tears to his eyes.

“You’re awake.”

He started with surprise, tensing in sudden dread. His eyes slid toward the owner of that voice. He was momentarily stunned when he saw the tall mannish—his eyes squinted—gods woman standing beside him. Her straw blonde hair was pulled back from her face. She wore a simple brown dress, a sword belt around her waist. Her mouth was wide, her face assaulted by freckles. She was altogether the ugliest creature he had ever seen.

Smiling shyly, she looked at him with impossible blue eyes. “I’m glad to see you’re awake,” She said softly. “How are you feeling?”

Jaime’s words died in his throat. Those eyes. Those were the eyes he has been dreaming about for years. He watched as her smile faltered, uncomfortable with his rude staring. He blinked. “I’m—better.” He answered hoarsely. “I’m assuming I have you to thank…?”

“Brienne.” She said softly. She placed her hand over his forehead with a small frown. “Your fever has broken, but you are still warm.”

“My hand Is still missing also,” he japed, feeling, quite suddenly on the verge of hysterics. How is it that he was still alive? After a year of torture and starvation; after losing his hand, he was sure he was done for. He had been finished. He blinked up at the strange woman as she removed her hand from his forehead. He hoped to all the seven this wasn’t some delirious fever dream.

She shifted from one foot to the next, looking nervous. “You must be terribly thirsty. Let me get you some water.”

Jaime’s eyes tracked her as she moved to pour him a cup of water. She turned, cup in hand, and moved to sit beside him on the bed. He watched as she hesitated for a moment before gently grasping the back of his head while bringing the cup to his lips. His eyes slipped closed as soon as the cool liquid touched his tongue. He drank greedily, ignoring her gentle warning to slow down. Nausea quickly set in and he pulled away, vomiting the clear liquid up with a gasp. “Fuck.” He mumbled as he dry heaved over the side of the bed.

Brienne helped him lie back as she tsked. “I warned you.” She said, gently dabbing at the water he’d spit back up.

Jaime lied back with a small laugh. “I am impervious to warnings, in case you hadn’t noticed.” Brienne gave him a small smile. He watched her for a long moment, exhaustion beginning to creep in. ‘Her eyes are extraordinary.'

Brienne arranged the covers around him. “Rest.” She instructed. “What shall I call you?”

His eyes were already drifting closed. “Jaime,” he said sleepily, “My name is Jaime.”

 

Brienne’s eyes widened as he revealed his name to her. She quickly slipped from the bed, her hand going to her mouth. It—couldn’t be who she thought it was. The Jaime Lannister? Brienne stepped further back from the bed, her heart pounding as she stared down at her charge. She has only ever seen Jaime Lannister one time in her life; she was nine years old. At a tourney at Storm’s End. She had begged her father to bring her along to catch a glimpse of the The Lion Knight. He had been everything she thought he would be. Now, even looking half dead he still looked like the golden knight she had seen all those years ago.

She had been devastated when she heard he had disappeared. But he was here now; with her. She slowly sat down onto the edge of the bed. “I will not let any more harm come to you, Ser.” She spoke quietly, unaware that it was she who he dreamed of.

88

Two days later

Jaime watched Brienne through lowered lids as she moved about the cottage, preparing something to eat by the looks of it. He hoped she didn’t know he was awake yet as he wanted to watch her unawares. It was strange, finally having a face to put to those eyes. Who was she? He wondered and why did she reside in the woods? His charade was given up when a violent cough overtook him. He watched as his savior suddenly turned, ladle in her hand, her expression startled. His coughing fit continued.

Seemingly coming out of her shock, she hurried over toward him. “Here.” She said gently placing a hand onto his shoulder. “Turn onto your side.”

Jaime did as she requested, turning over with the little strength he had. His coughing slowly subsided and he sighed with a shudder as he turned to lie back. “Thank you.”

Brienne nodded as she arranged the covers around him. She moved away and back toward the fire. She leaned down and begin to stir whatever it was in the pot. It smelled delicious and his stomach rumbled and roiled with pain and hunger. “You’re welcome.”

Jaime tilted his head, noting that she wouldn’t look him in the eye. “Brienne,” he started weakly, “I must thank you for this. I owe you a great deal.”

Brienne glanced over her shoulder at him shyly. “No thanks needed.” She said and he nodded.

He felt so drained and weak, but it was a different type than when he was held captive. “How much time has passed since I was last conscious?”

Brienne stood, a small bowl in her hand. “Two days.” She answered, lifting her eyes to him for the first time. “You slept off the fever with the help from the herbs I’d given you. Your body temperature seems normal now.”

He remembered intervals of being awakened and told to drink something before passing out again, falling back into dreams about her. Jaime blinked and swallowed as he met her large blue eyed gaze. He took his time to really run his gaze over her face. Her hair, cut in the way of a man’s was a yellow he has never seen before. Her lips were large, but inviting; the freckles that assaulted her face should seem intrusive, but he found them endearing. He blinked to himself and shook his head. What was happening with his thoughts?

Brienne sat beside him, leaning over to adjust his pillows so his head was at an angle. “You must eat.” She said. She dipped the spoon into the bowl of broth, bringing to his lips.

Jaime closed his mouth over the spoon. The flavors exploded onto his tongue and his eyes closed as he swallowed the warm liquid. He could barely finish half the bowl before he was lying back in exhaustion. “Always dreamed of being spoon fed and care for by a beautiful woman, though I’d hope it was under different circumstances. “

He watched with slight amusement as she hid her embarrassment with a cough and a quick excuse to turn away from him. “I apologize. Even half dead I have a wagging tongue.”

88

Brienne merely tilted her head acknowledging his apology. She swallowed her nervousness and breathed so she could speak. “You said your name was Jaime.” She turned to face him again.

He nodded. “Aye.”

“Are you—” She trailed off and closed her eyes. “There aren’t many named Jaime in Westeros.”

“Aye.” Jaime agreed just as quietly. “There are no men like me. There’s only me.”

Brienne’s chest pounded and she stepped forward, her eyes glistening with tears. “Ser Jaime Lannister. I knew you would—I knew you would return.”

Jaime nodded. “Thanks to you. I was half dead, but you’ve brought me back to life.” He leaned forward slightly. “From where do you hail from, my lady?” He smiled from the startled look she gave him. “I can tell that you’re highborn from the way you speak. The way you move.”

Brienne closed her eyes from the pure relief of the spell being lifted, giving her the ability of saying who she truly was. “I am Brienne of Tarth, of the Sapphire Isle.”

88

Jaime stared at Brienne with a shocked expression, he could hear his mother's voice in his mind.

_'It will protect you, until you find your true Sapphire Stone.’_

TBC

**Author's Note:**

> “Only the very weak-minded refuse to be influenced by literature and poetry.” quote by Cassandra Clare in Clockwork Angel


End file.
